


Glaswegian Rats

by TheLittleDayDreamer



Series: Nora + Michael [2]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: 1920s, F/M, Gen, Glasgow, pretty derogatory stuff regarding religion, sorry but that's literally the point in the razor gangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-06 21:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20298319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleDayDreamer/pseuds/TheLittleDayDreamer
Summary: Jimmy McCavern and Oswald Mosely have become quite the force to be reckoned with. Unlike the Englishman he had baggage in this city, baggage that wouldn't go ignored by Nora Gray.





	Glaswegian Rats

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Explicit Language!

**November 8th 1929.**

_City Chambers, Glasgow, United Kingdom._

Fire, _she_ was fire – an uncontrollable, vicious flame. There was fire in her loins, her heart, eyes and fists. The clicking echo from her stomping maroon heels bouncing from wall to wall, door to door, their sounds commanding attention; unwarranted or not, considering she had very little business being in such a grandeur building. Though, neither was the subject of her anger.

The City Chambers were alien to Nora; a working-class girl now isolated, surrounded by rooms of golden trinkets glossy statures, lords, lady’s and god only knows how many historical stories about her dear home. Nevertheless, it wasn’t as if the front door tried to stop her from entry. She’d never been. So, where she was headed, Nora didn’t entirely know but surely pure rage, followed by the stark, pungent stench of bigotry would guide her to that _animal._

Jimmy McCavern had crossed the fucking line, no. Obliterated it.

In the past three years the now, twenty-six-year-old had been living back in Bridgeton, Jimmy McCavern had: broken into her older sister’s flat, smashed a window in her father’s pub, tried to run _her_ over, twice and attacked her brother with a small group of Billy Boys on numerous occasions - sometimes Alec brought it on himself. But yesterday? Yesterday was the final straw.

The Billy Boys could do whatever the fuck they wanted with her; you don’t involve weans. Especially, not Nora Gray’s.

“Nora, stop.” Alec warned, attempting to grab onto her thick coat. “-ye barge in there guns blazing, we could be slaughtered.”

"Aye, efter ah slaughter that bastardin Proddy boot.”

“Naw hen, ah’m puttin’ ma foot down.”

The redhead twirled on her heel, shrugging of her brother. “Oan wit?! He hurt George. Ma wee boy. Doesnae that mean 'onythin?”

He sighed, seeing his sister’s pleading eyes. Still, she didn’t know these men and the games they played because as different as the McCloud’s and McCavern were, they didn’t deal with men in pin-stripe suits, holding briefcases and bulging bank accounts. They grew from nothing; lived in nothing. It was a level playing field for all. A Conk attacks a Billy Boy, the Billy Boy retaliates with his fists; not hush money and secret board meetings.

It was brutal, but it worked.

Meetings with English politicians hoping to get arise out of Glaswegians was new, and despite the Southerner’s detachment to their home, their city, their turf; they’d also have to deal with _their_ baggage. Taking Nora was bad enough, _wummin didnae belong in meetin’s lit this, _but his sister could restrain him whilst keeping his own wife and child out of the loop. Though, the tables had seemed to have turned after the dreaded trials of yesterday afternoon.

Alec swallowed, “Ye cannae act aw feral aroon this posh-lot, shite’s lit them don’t play that way. Jimmy knows thit too. Jist haud it in, an ye can square-go efter it – Ah’ll even haud him doon.”

“Aye, doon the Clyde.” She mutters, following him just before the double doors. Nora stops him.

“Ah’m no agreeing tae anythin’ wae _him_.”

“Never asked ye tae, it's ma deal.”

“Ah’m no even gonnae speak tae him.”

Nora didn’t seem to be addressing anyone, but the twenty-nine-year-old wasn’t opposed to replying if it helped the situation.

“No need, there’s plenty other blokes in the room, thit’ll want tae.”

“Who?” She snapped, hoping to change the topic as Alec nudged the golden knob.

“Brummies. Ye’ll be our wee translator.”

There was a familiar deep, raspy timbre she couldn’t quite place behind the door.

_ "Brummies?” _

Swinging open the doors, the redhead subconsciously scans the room. Four men, three in pinstripes. All except her target who wore: a sliced cheek, dirtied knuckles and the chocolate brown eyes of a conceited man who’d murder one thousand men out of ignorance.

* * *

"Thought ye didnae like it up in Glesga? Telt me it smelt." Nora muttered, twiddling her fingers. Only occasionally glancing at Thomas and Mosley or to Alec and Jimmy, growling across the glossy table.

"It does. Tommy seems to like it though."

She hated him, not Michael. Well, she hated him too but that wasn't because he'd tried to murder her; on purpose. It was that smile. How could a man so full of hate even have the audacity to dare grin in her presence? After having Nora threaten him with a pistol her husband had left for her, to get him as far away from the frail blond six-year-old, who he was ready to shove from a bridge into the ice cold depths of the River Clyde. How could you be so twisted in your way were killing a child could satisfy your distaste?

"Aye well, he picked the wrang blokes, an ah'm gonnae-"

There was a voice to her left, "Pack it in wull ye? If he hears you, this deal is dead."

"No as deid as he's gonnae be."

Alec pinched the bridge of his nose, looking at his sister - who had become strangely close the younger Birmingham man, they seemed to be around the same age but Nora wasn't one for socialising, especially with strangers.

Michael nudged his ex again, keeping his voice low. They couldn't create an alliance in this room, it would be seen as a biased influence, so finding out there was a former marriage looming would've been very bad for business.

"What's wrong? The kids keeping you up?"

"Like you'd know," she hissed, though calming herself quickly. "It's just. It's just that ah'm gonnae rag-doll that cunt."

Her nostrils flare, she’s so enraged it feels her brain’s gone static and unresponsive so confused in how to deal with the situation, despite having one common denominator; _kill._

Michael was taken aback. It wasn't unusual for the redhead to be spewing profanities; it was part of her charm, but to do so in such a violent manner was surprising. 

"Never heard that one before."

"Hmm, changed a lot of the years. You?" Nora abruptly jabs, motioning to his fresh wedding ring.

Overhearing their spat, Thomas gave them a side-eye. Nora felt like a hushed teenager again.

"Still fucking you aren't I?" He smirks, "So no. I don't think I have."

* * *

As the men the the room began settling their terms, and the locals were shoving on their coats Nora felt there was no better time than to air yesterday's incident. She had an audience, the perfect one at that. Filled with her son's family and a high standing politician. It was time to give them a feel for how they dealt with their issues. 

“See _you_,” she stalks up to him, back to the rest of the group. The only identifiable aspect was her freshly chopped ginger hair. “Ah want a fucking word.”

“Aye, sure hen. _Ye gonnae square-go wae me this time?” _He mocks, as if children would on a playground, though unlike children, his stature towering over her.

Nora could feel her heart pounding, body pulsing, she was scared – no point lying – but Jimmy couldn’t know that. He hurt her son, bottom-line.

“Naw. Cause ye only dae that wae weans noo, don’t ye?”

He clicks his tongue, holding back a scoff. Jimmy needed her to zip it, or else Oswald and himself may damage their proposition with the other men the room. Which unlike himself, probably had children of their own.

McCavern tires to dilute her threat with a chuckles, “Ah didnae ‘hink eighteen-year-aulds were weans.”

“Ma son’s _six!”_

Feeling the air, he turns to glance around the room. Oswald, Alec and the younger Shelby seemed to be interested - Alec, was more amused than anything but, the latter having Englishman wore a scowl, but Thomas didn’t bother rising from his morning paper as he took drags from the cigarette. Like, he hadn’t even noticed.

“Ah didnae touch him.”

Nora claps back, growling. “-Ye telt him, tae follow ye.”

“Wis bein’ nice, got him some sweeties.”

She restrains from ripping hair out by increasing her volume again as she shoves against his chest. “then tried tae droon ‘im in the fuckin’ Clyde!”

They fell to an uncomfortable silence, though Jimmy swore he could her a muted _click._

Nora won. But why didn’t it _feel like it?_ She brought the bastard down to nothing but a scowl and yet, why was she the one with burning eyes and shaking hands?

“Are the pair of you quite finished? We _were _rather busy,” he looks to McCavern, “couldn’t you deal with your repressed feelings another time?”

Wide-eyed, both Scots turn to the table and see Oswald Mosely leaning back into his leather chair. Placing a pipe back into his mouth.

She hears Jimmy shuffle past her, muttering something snide. “-as if ah’d fuck a Fenian.”

But she wasn’t listening, with now steady breathing her eyes were locked, on Michael. Those same, deep blue eyes that made her go weak in the knees just a few years ago.

Nora snorts, seeing the full picture of what’s before her, and if Nora didn't disrupt this unfair, fascist deal, it’d probably leave her husband right back in jail cell. Still, she saw another opening to ruin Jimmy's day, so she snatched it.

“Yer _really_ gonnae dae business wae each other?”

They all look to her; Tommy narrows his eyes but looks forward to some entertainment.

"Wrap it hen. We do this ootside."

The ginger ignored, turning perching herself against the wall, facing the table. “Does McCavern know, you lot are Catholic? Thit yer Gyspy? _Or_…” She teases, glancing between Jimmy and Michael, “Thit _he’s_ jist tried tae drown George?”

“Whit?”

“Ack, aye. Did ah no mention that his da’s no actually deid?" She playfully pouts, cocking her head with a fake naivety before motioning her head to Michael for McCavern.

Nora glares at Thomas, "-must’ve just... slipped ma_ wee _mind.”

_ Can't have your cake and eat it too Shelby!_

There was another _click_, it sounded to becoming from under the table, from where she had been previously sitting.

“Well, you lot hiv yer fun. We've got weans tae pick up fae school.”

Nora grabbed her brother by the arm, pulling him away of ticking time-bomb that was Michael Gray's temper.

The door, slammed behind them.

"Haud it. That was Michael?! As in George an Rosie, Michael?"

"Aye. Who’d ye ‘hink _ah_ got the gun aff ae when we wir at the bridge? Didnae jist pull it oot ma backside."

"So, he's really no deid then?"

Scolding him, Nora swiftly skelps the back of his head. "Naw! That's the whole blummin' point!"

"Jesus suffering fuck, he's gonnae leather McCavern."

"Better him, than me. Ah’d kill him."


End file.
